again and flipped over a couple more pages. “The Albany cops just found a witness not two hours ago who identified the car that ran down Dick McCallum. It’s a BMW, black, license number-at least the first three numbers- three-eight-five. A New York plate. I don’t have anything on that yet.”
“I’ll have it run through,” Savich said. “It’ll be quicker, more complete. I don’t want to know how you got that information so quickly.”
“I’ll just say that she loves my mustache,” Hatch said. “Please do call the Bureau, Agent Savich. I didn’t have the chance to check back with Thomas and have him do it. Oh yeah, a guy was driving. No clue if it was an old guy or a young guy or in between, really dark windows, like windows on a limo. Fairly unusual for a regular commercial car, and that’s probably why he stole that particular car.”
Savich was on his cell phone in the next ten seconds, nodded and hung up in three more minutes. “Done. We’ll have a list of possibles in about five minutes.”
Tommy the Pipe knocked lightly on the front door and came in. “We got a guy buying Exxon supreme at a gas station just eight miles west of Riptide. The attendant, a young boy about eighteen, said when the guy paid for his gas, he saw dirt and blood on the cuff of his shirt. He wouldn’t have thought a thing about it except Rollo was canvassing all the gas stations, asking questions about strangers. It’s him.”
“Oh, yeah,” Adam said and jumped to his feet. “Please say it, Tommy. Please tell us that this kid remembers what the guy looks like, that he remembers the kind of car he was driving.”
“The guy had on a green hunting hat with flaps, something like mine but with no style. He also wore very dark glasses. He doesn’t know if the guy was young or old, sorry, Adam. Hell, anyone over twenty-five would be old to that kid. But he does remember clearly that the guy spoke well, a real educated voice, all smooth and deep. The car-he thought it was a BMW, dark blue or black. Sorry, no idea about the plate. But you know what? The windows were dark-tinted. How about that?”
“Surely he wouldn’t have driven the same car up here that he used to kill Dick McCallum in Albany,” Sherlock said.
“Why not?” Savich said. “If it isn’t dented, if there isn’t blood all over it, then why not?”
Savich’s cell phone rang. He stood and walked over to the doorway. They heard him talking, saw him nodding as he listened. He hung up and said, “No go. He stole the license plates. No surprise there. He’d have been an idiot to leave on the original plates. However, those heavily tinted windows, I have everyone checking on New York cars stolen within the past two weeks with those sorts of windows.”
Savich’s cell phone rang again in eight minutes. He listened and wrote rapidly. When he hung up the phone, he said, “This is something. Like Hatch said, few commercial cars-domestic or foreign-are built with dark-tinted windows. Three have been stolen. The people are all over the state, two men and one woman.”
Becca said with no hesitation, “It’s the woman. He stole her car.”
“Possible,” Sherlock said. “Let’s find out right now.”
She called information for Ithaca, New York, and got the phone number for Mrs. Irene Bailey, 112 Huntley Avenue. The phone rang once, twice, three times, then, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Bailey? Mrs. Irene Bailey?”
Silence.
“Are you there? Mrs. Bailey?”
“That’s my mother,” a woman said. “I’m sorry, but it took me by surprise.”
“May I please speak to your mother?”
“You don’t know? No, I guess not. My mother was killed two weeks ago.”
Sherlock didn’t drop the phone, but she felt a great roiling pain through her stomach, up to her throat, and she swallowed convulsively. “Can you give me any details, please?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Gladys Martin with the Social Security Administration in Washington.”
“I know my husband called Social Security. What do you want?”
“We’re required to fill out papers, ma’am. Are you her daughter?”
“Yes, I am. What kind of papers?”
“Statistics, nothing more. Is there someone else I can speak to about this? I don’t want to upset you.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “No, it’s all right. Ask the questions. We don’t want the government to go away mad.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You said your mother was killed? Was this an auto accident?”
“No, someone hit her on the head when she was going out to her car at the shopping mall. He stole her car.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so very sorry. Please tell me that the man who did this has been caught?”
The woman’s voice hardened up immediately. “No, he wasn’t. The cops put out a description of her car, but no one has reported back with anything as yet. They think he painted the car a different color and changed the license plates. He’s gone. Even the New York City cops don’t know where he is. She was an old woman, too, so who cares?” The bitterness in the daughter’s voice was bone-deep, her pain, disbelief, anger still raw.
“Was there anything distinctive about the car the man stole?”
“Yes, the windows were tinted dark because my mother had very sensitive eyes. Too much sunlight really hurt her.”
“I see. What was the color of the car?”
“White with gray interior. There was a small dent above the left rear tire.”
“I see. Did you say that there were other than just the local cops there?”
“Oh, yes. Of all things, they were from New York City. They should have caught this guy. We don’t know why the New York City police are involved. Do you? Is that really why you’re calling? You want to pump me for information?”
“No, of course not. This is simply statistical information that we need.”
“Are there any more questions, Ms. Martin? I’m sorting through my mother’s things and I have to be down at St. Paul’s charities in a half hour.”
“No, ma’am. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll take care of everything here.” Sherlock turned to see all eyes focused on her. “The killer painted a white car black and stole another license plate. The New York City cops were there. They know. Oh, yeah, the windows are tinted dark because Mrs. Bailey had sensitive eyes.”
“Son of a bitch,” Hatch said and groped in his pocket for his cigarettes. “How come nobody told me that the cops knew about that damned car?”
Adam just gave him a look and said, “They’ve got a real lid on that one. My guess is they’re keeping it from the Feds, don’t want to get aced out. And the victim loses. What the New York cops don’t know is that our killer is here in Maine. Shall we tell them?”
Savich said, “Not the New York cops, but I can call Tellie Hawley, the SAC of the office in New York City. He’ll see that it gets to where it needs to go.”
“Yeah,” Adam said, “why not? Anyone think of a good reason why not?”
“How specific should we be?” Becca asked. She was wringing her hands, and Adam frowned.
Savich rolled it around in his brain and said, “Let’s just tell him the guy’s been seen on the coast. How’s that? It’s the truth.”
“We’ve got to get him,” Becca said. “If we don’t, then we have to call this Thomas person who seems to know everyone and direct everything, and tell him to bring in the Marines.”
“He hasn’t called,” Becca said, and took a bite of her hot dog. “Why hasn’t hecalled?”
Adam said as he chewed a potato chip, “I think he’s going to lie low for a while. He’s not stupid. He’s going to dig in somewhere else, give you some time to chew your fingernails, make all of us jumpy as hell, then jump back into the game-his game.”
They were all eating hot dogs with relish and mustard, the team of guys outside coming in one at a time. Special Agent Rollo Dempsey said to Adam, “I knew your name but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it. Now I do. You saved Senator Dashworth’s life last year when that crazy tried to stick a knife in his ribs.”
Adam didn’t say a word.
